


Five Notes Rapid

by neveralarch



Category: Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-17
Updated: 2010-06-17
Packaged: 2017-10-14 05:15:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neveralarch/pseuds/neveralarch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes the Master stops himself. Sort of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Notes Rapid

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Пять стремительных нот](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3586623) by [Kollega](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kollega/pseuds/Kollega)



> Some discussion of drug use.

"Hello," said the Doctor. "How are you feeling?"

The Master opened his eyes, then covered them with a shaking hand, groaning.

"Go away."

"No, really," said the Doctor. "You look ill."

"Obviously I'm ill," said the Master. "I'm hallucinating."

"Oh dear," said the Doctor. "What are you seeing? How high is your fever?" The Doctor felt the Master's forehead, and found it worryingly hot. But the other batted feebly at his hand, and the Doctor removed it as the Master began to talk.

"I'm seeing a rather annoying man covered in velvet, that's what I'm seeing. Since you shouldn't be here, obviously you are not and I am hallucinating."

"No, I really am here," said the Doctor.

"That's what you'd say if you were a hallucination. In fact, that's what you did say when I was hallucinating you earlier. You were younger then, but you always were a liar."

"Oh dear," said the Doctor. He'd thought the Master pegging him as an illusion rather comical, but not if the Master had been in a delirium earlier. Perhaps his fever had gone down and he'd come out of it, but the man didn't know that yet.

"Master, I'm not some sort of figment of your imagination. UNIT got a call about a man fitting your description having collapsed in this village, and I convinced the Brigadier to let me come and check it out alone."

The Master had his eyes slit open. The Doctor hoped he was actually listening.

"Do you have any idea what you have? I might be able to help."

"Go away," said the Master.

"It really is me, you know."

"Even if I believe you, all the more reason for you to leave now, before you make things worse. You're a terrible doctor, which is rather ironic, don't you think?"

"You're babbling," said the Doctor, dismissing the Master's concerns. "The fever's probably getting the better of you. And what other option do you think you have, anyway? No medical doctor on Earth would have any idea what to do with you, except perhaps to sell you to a traveling side-show. Even if their intentions were pure, they'd think your temperature was completely normal, or even a little low. You'd be lucky to survive their attentions, let alone the illness."

"I'll take my chances," said the Master. "Go away."

"I'm afraid you're in no position to argue with me, Master. If you won't tell me what you might have caught, I'll just have to find out myself."

The Master closed his eyes again.

"That will mean, of course," continued the Doctor, "that I shall have to drive you to UNIT headquarters to avail myself of the lab there. Unfortunately, you'll have to be taken into custody after you're cured."

"You'll do that anyway. It doesn't matter whether I agree to your demands or not."

"Not if you let me take care of you outside UNIT. I won't turn you in unless you force me to."

The Master opened his eyes once more, almost all the way open this time. The Doctor nodded at him encouragingly.

"I overdosed on khettel leaves. I'll be fine in a few hours. Go away."

The Doctor ignored the last two sentences.

"Why were you doing khettel? You know the dosage on those is hard to judge."

The Master said nothing.

"Those shouldn't have raised your temperature enough to make you hallucinate, either," said the Doctor. "Unless-" he stopped. "You didn't- My _dear_ chap, why would you-"

"Don't act so sanctimonious," snapped the Master, rolling onto his side, away from the Doctor. "I know you smoke marijuana in your little car. The thing reeks of it."

"That's different," said the Doctor, stung. "Marijuana is completely harmless to the Time Lord system, and anyway, what else am I to do on Earth in this time period?" The Master's shoulders hunched in a way that indicated amusement, and the Doctor realized he'd lost the thread of his irritation. "You, on the other hand," he said, bringing his train of thought back to its original destination, "could have died, taking a high enough dose of khettel to overstimulate your frontal cortex like that."

"Go _away_ ," said the Master, no longer amused.

"No, I don't think I will," said the Doctor. "I think I'll sit right here and make sure you stay awake and hydrated. Have you been drinking water?"

The Master muttered something into his pillow.

"I'll take that as a no. Will you be alright while I go and get something from the inn-keeper?"

The Doctor ignored the Master's suggestion that he just not come back, and went downstairs. Khettel leaves. Of all the stupid stunts that the Master could pull. It wasn't as if he was very careful with himself, and perhaps the Doctor shouldn't be surprised. But drugs? The Master had never seemed to seek the sort of temporary comfort that khettel leaves could give, nor the permanent oblivion that too much indulgence would bestow.

"How is he?" asked the inn-keeper, interrupting the Doctor's thoughts. The Doctor's feet had carried him all the way to the bar, without him even noticing.

"He'll be fine." The Doctor smiled slightly at the inn-keeper, a bluff man who'd been concerned enough about a stranger to give him an empty room. "Just need to keep him hydrated. Could I trouble you for some water?"

"Yes, just a moment," said the man, filling a glass from the tap. "I'm glad you came."

"It was no trouble," said the Doctor. "We're old friends. I'll be happy to pay you for the use of the room, by the way..."

"No, no," the man waved his hands. "I couldn't take your money. Just tell him to get better soon, eh?"

The Doctor thanked him and went upstairs.

"The innkeeper's very nice," he said, once back in the room. "You should thank him once you're well- get back in bed."

The Master was sitting up, putting his jacket back on.

"If you won't go away, Doctor, I will. I'm sure that I can handle myself now."

"You'll collapse five feet out that door. Don't be an idiot."

"I didn't ask for your concern, Doctor. Go find someone else to condescend to." The Master got to his feet, and wobbled. The Doctor set the water down hurriedly and caught the Master as the man stumbled.

"Now, really," said the Doctor. "You can see you're in no fit state to leave. Why don't you just stay here and tell me what happened?"

"It's no business of yours," said the Master, trying to sound aloof. The attempt wasn't helped by the fact that he was clinging to the Doctor's jacket in his struggle to keep upright.

"Indulge me," said the Doctor, settling the Master on the bed. The other let go of his jacket immediately and looked mutinous. "It's not like you to take drugs at all, much less overdose."

"Because you know me so well," said the Master.

"I rather think I do." The Doctor handed the Master the glass of water. "Drink this." He watched as the Master sulkily sipped at the water and then tsked as the other shivered violently. "Get back under the covers, and then tell me all about it."

The Master glared, but set the water on the bedside table and pulled the covers up around himself. The Doctor tried to keep from looking fond and amused; it would probably start the argument all over again. It was difficult to keep looking stern, however, when the Master was huddled around the glass of water he was clutching with both hands, blankets tucked up to his chin.

"It isn't as if I had any control of how much I was given," said the Master, evidentially having decided that talking would be better than the Doctor just staring at him all day.

"You mean somebody else gave you khettel?"

"Forced it on me, actually. I was minding my own business on Sepadol - I wasn't going to do much harm, at least." The Doctor raised an eyebrow, and the Master amended his statement. "My rule would've been much better than the dictatorship they have there, even you must agree."

The Doctor said nothing. Admittedly the despot of Sepatol was a particularly odious being, but give the Master the tiniest whiff of approval and the next moment he'd be claiming that you basically told him to raze the city to the ground. No need to repeat that particular argument either.

The Master waited for some sort of response, and then frowned as none was forthcoming.

"Fine. I was caught within moments- Time Agents, unfortunately. They've been following me around, and presumably they decided that now was as good a time as any to put me down."

"What did you do to bother the Time Agency?" asked the Doctor. "They're barely even a real law organization, and they've certainly no jurisdiction over Time Lords, even a renegade one."

"Oh, I don't know," said the Master. "I probably haven't even done it yet. They've no understanding of how relative non-linear timelines function. In any case, they turned me in to the local authorities, who use khettel as a means of keeping prisoners tranquil. Of course the Agents didn't bother telling them that the safe dosage for Time Lords is different, and the jailers wouldn't listen to me."

"How much did they give you?" asked the Doctor. This had been far more dangerous than he had thought.

"About four drops of extract," said the Master. The Doctor winced. "But I managed to escape, as you see. So, I'm all right now, and you can leave."

"How did you get out?" asked the Doctor. "You must have been out of your mind at that point- I'm surprised you weren't regenerating."

"I simply picked the lock on my cell door. Security measures were fairly lax, as they expected all their prisoners to be too drugged to move," said the Master. "They hadn't placed a guard on my TARDIS. Unfortunately, I was hallucinating as I set the controls, and so I ended up in England, rather than anywhere useful."

"I'm here, aren't I? Seems to me you chose a good destination."

The Master muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'you would say that.'

"Oh, you were imagining me, weren't you? You said earlier that you'd hallucinated me before. I - I mean, the representation of me that your drug-addled state conjured up - told you to set those coordinates, didn't I? I'm glad I'm sensible even when I'm just your imagination."  
The Master was flushed, but of course he had been already. The Doctor couldn't tell how much of it was new, but he smiled to himself anyway.

"Well, it's a good thing you thought of me. Younger, was I?"

"It was your last regeneration," said the Master. "Stop smiling. You're not actually sensible, it was just _my_ unconscious."

"And you were embarrassed about both your situation and the fact that you had been hallucinating me, and so you tried to get rid of me," finished the Doctor. "I see."

"Yes, you're very clever, you've figured me out. Goodbye, Doctor."

"No, I'm not buying it."

"What?"

The Doctor leaned forward and tapped the water glass the Master was still holding with one finger.

"Drink up. That's a very pat story, my friend. Nothing really over-embarrassing for you at all, and nothing to explain why you're _still_ trying to get rid of me. What really happened?"

"That is what happened."

"Don't be tiresome."

The Master pretended to be busy drinking his water. The Doctor waited patiently, or at least sat for a couple of seconds before he got bored.

"If you won't tell me the truth, then we're off to UNIT HQ after all. I'll have to run a check on you for other toxins."

" _Fine_ ," said the Master, looking put out. "If you must know, I didn't get arrested on Sepadol, and, while there were a few Time Agents there, I'm fairly certain they were just enjoying the orgy. A festival day, you see. I, meanwhile, was trying another summoning ritual."

"More monsters? Really now, Master. I'll never understand this fascination you have with primitive superstition. Next thing you know, you'll be starting cults." The Doctor rolled his eyes, just to emphasize how ridiculous the whole thing was. The Master had just never got past the stage everyone went through in academy, when they all wore black and had lots of arcane silver jewelry.

Admittedly, black did suit the Master. If only he would stop obsessing over grimoires and chanting mystical incantations at unsuitable moments.

"If it works, then it's not superstition, Doctor," said the Master, earnestly. "I believe these rituals are tapping into another source of power, possibly centered on words and gestures. You know of the Carrionites, don't you? They use precisely the same sort of 'magic' to great effect."

"Yes, yes, go on," said the Doctor. "Get to the part where you nearly killed yourself."

"I needed to be in an... altered state of consciousness for the ritual," said the Master reluctantly, his earlier animation gone. "So I took what the natives gave me. I didn't find out how much khettel they'd put into the drink until after I had already taken it."

"That was uncharacteristically trusting of you," said the Doctor, leaning back. The Master glared at him.

"They had no reason to harm me. They just didn't know what they were doing, the incompetent fools."

"So? What happened?"

"I only got half-way through the ritual before I started hallucinating. After that, I couldn't go on, and I left. There, happy?"

"No," said the Doctor. The Master was still hiding something. It probably wasn't important, but it was possibly entertaining. "Why couldn't you 'go on' anyway? A little thing like hearing voices and seeing things never stopped you."

The Master muttered something into his water glass.

"Hm?"

"You wouldn't let me continue." The Master looked disgusted with himself for the admission.

"You were hallucinating me after all!" said the Doctor, delighted.

"Yes, and you were a terrible nuisance. Kept playing that recorder - you had a terrible ear back then, do you know that? I can't believe not one of your companions ever brained you with the instrument of their torture. Anyway, you told me to desist, and so on. I gave up, went back to my TARDIS, and ended up here, again at your illusionary self's behest."

"Don't you feel better for having told me?" said the Doctor, smiling. "Very silly of you to have taken the drugs, of course, but I'm glad I was there to stop you, more or less."

"Stop looking so pleased with yourself," said the Master. "Apparently I just hate myself and constantly self-sabotage."

The Doctor said nothing about that. It was probably true, after all, and it would be a terrible thing for the Master's self-deception to get too punctured.

"Oh, you needn't be so down about it," he said instead, trying to distract the Master. He was looking sullenly at his glass again. "I think of you, you know, when I'm smoking. Every once in a while. Drink some more water."

The Master took another sip and looked up. "Oh yes? Do you think of me in earlier regenerations as well?"

"Oh, no, I rather like your current body. You're normally rather less ill-looking, though. Wearing less clothing, as well," said the Doctor absently, and then stiffened as he realized what he'd said.

"Really," purred the Master. "You know, I'm too hot. Maybe I should take off my jacket again."

"If you like," said the Doctor, pretending he had no opinion on the matter. Now he'd never be able to bring the Master's predicament up again, not without the Master having an equally embarrassing story to counter with.

"And then," said the Master, interrupting the Doctor's thoughts as he pulled his jacket off his shoulders, "perhaps you could have a go at cooling me down?"

"You'd probably be better served by just taking off your covers and opening a window," pointed out the Doctor. "My body temperature isn't that much lower. Anyway, you're supposed to sweat out a fever."

The Master rolled his eyes.

"How blunt do I have to be, Doctor? Unless you really do want to go away, I suggest you get a clue."

"Ah," said the Doctor. He'd rather expected to be laughed at at this point, not offered an invitation. "What brought this on?"

"I might as well get something out of today, don't you agree? And then we can both pretend none of this ever happened."

"Sound reasoning," said the Doctor, unbuttoning his jacket. If it distracted the Master and kept him from mentioning anything to the Brigadier, that would be wonderful. Not that that plan had much chance of success, admittedly. The Master's memory for other people's missteps was as long as his memory for his own was short.

The Master was looking at him in a rather interesting way, however. Making this encounter more intimate would probably be worth it for its own sake. Although...

"I don't think you're quite up to anything very enthusiastic. You are still ill, after all," said the Doctor, suddenly remembering why he was here in the first place.

"We'll see," said the Master. "Hurry up."

"I'm working on it," said the Doctor, pulling off his shirt. He leaned down and kissed the Master as he unbuckled his belt. "You feel much cooler."

"I feel altogether much better. I told you I would be fine."

"Mm. I think you just needed a Doctor. Two, in fact, haha."

"I've changed my mind," said the Master, covering his eyes with his hand. "I want you to go away again."

"You don't mean that," said the Doctor, sitting on the bed next to the Master and running his hands down the Master's back and then up under the black t-shirt he wore under his jacket. The Master sighed and relaxed back into him, making a pleased noise as the Doctor bent his head to lick the sweat off the side of the Master's neck.

Things went well for a while, right up until when the Doctor started to hum while he was tonguing one of the Master's nipples. He quickly found himself on his back on the floor.

"What was that for?' he said, trying in vain to regain a little dignity.

"Honestly, Doctor? Greensleeves?" The Master looked torn between amusement and annoyance. Mostly annoyance.

"It's a very romantic song," said the Doctor. "I was there when it was written, in fact, and Henry VIII meant every word, though I don't support cutting your lover's head off when you get bored, before you start. My humming Greensleeves had nothing to do with what you told me. I don't even like recorders in this body."

The Master raised a doubtful eyebrow, but allowed the Doctor to clamber back onto the bed and resume his previous position, sans humming this time.

As the Doctor moved lower and the Master's hands settled and then tangled in his hair, the Doctor resolved to arm UNIT with out-of-tune recorders the next time the Master tried anything. The Brigadier would have questions of course, but he was relatively sure he could come up with an almost believable explanation.

The Doctor was suddenly possessed of a strong mental image of UNIT soldiers holding recorders, the Brigadier shouting musical notes at them.

"B! A! D! Come on, get those hot cross buns working!"

The Master was far too distracted this time to do anything about the Doctor's giggles, and after a few moments, the Doctor was too distracted to even remember why he'd been laughing.

Just as well, really.


End file.
